Reckless Nights in Rome by C. C. MacKenzie Page A

Rosie the
type of friend that would say you were, and I quote, gagging for
it?”
    With a shocked
gasp, she stared at him. Any guilt she might have felt that Nico
had hurt Anthony drained away.
    “Of course not.
Is that what he said?”
    He nodded. “He
is a man who cannot hold his liquor. You should have no trouble
from him.” That piercing look was back in his eyes. “Why are you
single and do not date?”
    He had her
there. Of course there was no way she could tell him the truth.
    That she had
too much emotional baggage to take into a relationship. That until
she knew who she was and where she came from and made some sort of
peace with it, how could she commit herself to a man?
    Mind a complete
blank. She said the first thing that came into her head,
    “I suppose I’m
looking not to get hurt. As I said, I will never marry.”
    “I don’t
believe you.”
    “Excuse
me?”
    Nico merely
shrugged at her icy tone.
    “You are not a
coward, you will love again. And you would make a wonderful
wife.”
    She ignored the
weight pressing on her lungs at the wonderful wife comment and
forced herself to keep her tone light.
    “To be honest,
I’m too busy to date. Work keeps me sane.”
    “You make
wedding cakes and attend weddings. Yet you say you will never
marry.” He took another sip of his wine. “It makes no sense.” He
placed the glass on the table. She watched his fingers as they
found hers.
    Nico appeared
to be genuinely interested.
    But then her
track record in reading men was not one to be proud of was it? Her
fiancé’s scathing remarks about her lack of sexual experience and
the things he’d told her he needed from a ‘real’ woman still had
the ability to make her feel physically ill.
    She wouldn’t
fall for the charming routine, not again.
    “You have
smooth moves, Mr Ferranti.” Bronte removed her hand and clenched it
in her lap to stop the trembling. “My love life and how I live my
life is none of your business.”
    “So, why
wedding cakes?” He persisted.
    “It makes me
happy. I don’t suppose you would understand that.”
    “You are not
happy?”
    Frustrated with
him in more ways than one, Bronte took a breath and tried to
explain.
    “It’s about
capturing the moment. You know, when they hold hands and cut the
cake and the look in his eyes for her. It’s special.”
    He smiled in a
way that brought her back up.
    “Ah, you are a
romantic. The trouble is these things never last.”
    Stung, she
glared at him.
    “There are no
guarantees in life.” She should know. “But I’m a part of the
celebration of their love, the promises and the dreams.”
    He gave her a
level look.
    “And you do not
want that for yourself?”
    “I thought I
had it for myself.”
    Something
bitter lodged in her throat. Fury buzzed in her ears. She threw her
napkin on the table. She’d had it all; the career, a close and
happy family and a wonderful man who was safe, she thought. The
road to their future all mapped out in front of them. Then the
horror of losing her parents; the rejection from the man who said
he loved her, the letter from her dead mother, the terrible
discovery that...
    The unexpected
softness in his eyes as he watched her struggle to come to terms
with her demons was an appalling temptation. Bronte almost wanted
to tell him. This man was a complete stranger to her, so why did
she feel the need to unburden herself to him of all people? It must
be the wine she rationalised.
    Trembling, she
rose. “I’m leaving.”
    He moved fast
as she headed for the door, caught her and turned her into his
arms.
    “I am sorry for
prying. I did not mean to upset you.” He muttered into her hair as
she closed her eyes.
    No way was
Bronte going to let him cut through her defences. He was an expert
at seduction. She could sense it. She couldn’t think clearly when
he touched her.
    Nico caught her
face between his hands, dark eyes searched her face and his thumb
rubbed her bottom lip.
    Bronte almost
groaned,